


Courting

by theperipheral



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Engagement, F/F, Mutual Pining, Royal Wedding, courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 01:58:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12159279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theperipheral/pseuds/theperipheral
Summary: Queen Lexa is on a state visit to Arkadia, where she meets the captivating Princess Clarke





	Courting

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this around for months, but never done anything with it. I found it in my drafts this morning, and figured I'd post it. It's un-beta'd, so sorry for any mistakes!

Lexa’s first state visit was when she was only four years old. She had been dressed in a frilly abomination of a dress and paraded about as the pride of her nation. She’d misbehaved, of course, as any four-year-old would when a strange old man with a disturbingly large moustache tried to pinch her cheeks. After giving the King of Trishana a swift kick to the shin, she’d been escorted out and banned for another two years while she learned manners befitting a princess.

Now, she was approaching her twentieth year, and could thankfully pick her own clothing. She’d opted for her black Polis military dress jacket, with badges of rank and honour pinned to her chest. It was formal and tidy, and the high neck would prevent any unintended slouching as the night wore on and the conversation inevitably grew dull.

As the line of dignitaries in front of her began to move and shorten, she felt a tug on her red sash.

“Leave it, Titus.”

“It was crooked.”

“Thank you, but I’m fine.”

Titus was still struggling to accept that she was no longer a child. Until her eighteenth birthday – and consequent accession – he had been steward of Polis and Lexa’s guardian. Now however, he was simply an advisor who couldn’t bear to loosen his grip on power.

Lexa shuffled forward in the line.

“It is an insult that you are made to wait,” Titus pressed forward, arranging the gold tassels on Lexa’s shoulders. He was being ridiculous. There were only two people in front of her, both rulers of their own countries.

“Not this again. I am waiting to be formally announced, not in line for the theatre.”

“We are only recently allies, do not forget that. Arkadia means to shame you by making you wait.”

“Enough, Titus. Go stand with the rest of the delegation and do not mention this again.”

She gripped tightly on the pommel of her ceremonial sword and her tone brooked no argument. Titus bit off his brewing argument and scurried away.

At last, there was only one man in front of her, who she recognised as a president of a country Polis had few dealings with, but were staunch allies of Arkadia. He walked through the double doors and it was Lexa’s turn.

The announcer looked her up and down, then flicked his eyes to his list.

“Her majesty, Queen Alexandria of Polis.”

A footman hurried to Lexa’s side to show her to her seat at the long, lavishly decorated table at the top of the room, meant for the royal family and the most important of the guests. To her right, unfortunately, was the vain and vacuous prince of Walden. The other side remained empty.

More guests filtered in and seats began to fill. Just as Lexa felt she might have to actually engage the prince in conversation, trumpets hailed Arkadia’s royal family. Having observed the incoming guests from a platform high in the room, they were now to descend to join their visitors.

At the top step of a set of stairs strategically placed to be visible from anywhere in the room, stood the queen regent Abigail, and by her right side, her head of government - and rumoured consort - prime minister Marcus Kane. To her left was the most beautiful creature Lexa had ever seen.

There was no doubt in Lexa’s mind who the blonde young woman in the flowing white ball gown was – the seventeen-year-old princess. Just a few days shy of her birthday and thus her coronation, she was the reason everyone was here, and princess Clarke certainly had the regal air befitting her rank. She regarded the room with the gentle interest of someone who was being polite but had in fact been to far too many of these events to truly enjoy it.

At last, the three of them made their way to the head of the long table, Abigail taking the tallest, most intricately decorated seat. A light cough alerted Lexa to the place to her left, suddenly occupied by the vision that was the princess.

“I don’t believe we’ve met before,” Clarke was leaning slightly in her direction, ignoring that her mother was addressing the room.

“No, I don’t believe we have,” Lexa smiled. She was listening to the queen regent’s address with mild interest, but had no doubt that it would be worth far more to give her attention to the incoming queen next to her. “I am Alexandria of Polis. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, I know who you are.”

Lexa’s brows shot up in amusement at the almost flippant remark. The princess was a little blunter than other young royals she’d met, most of whom were simpering idiots – such as the prince on her other side, who was admiring his own reflection in a spoon.

“I see. In that case, allow me to thank you for your hospitality and your invitation. I know our countries haven’t always seen eye-to-eye, but I hope we can work towards a better relationship for the sake of our people.”

“Of course. You’ve been more open to negotiations than your predecessor. Marcus speaks very highly of you.”

“It’s the duty of a monarch to protect their people. Having allies rather than enemies is central to that.”

The princess nodded her head in agreement, a contemplative look on her face that said she hadn’t been expecting Lexa to say that.

-

Dinner was a five course affair of delicacies from around Arkadia. The food was rich, and Lexa found herself struggling partway through the third dish. It was some sort of bird she’d never seen stuffed inside another bird and while it was delicious, there was simply too much.

“Don’t worry about it,” the princess whispered. “They’ve made the helpings larger than they should to give the old people an excuse to stay in their seats and avoid dancing.”

“I see,” Lexa eyed the plates to either side of her and noticed they’d only been politely sampled.

“Don’t you dare try to avoid the ballroom, I’m claiming you for the first dance.”

Lexa laid her knife and fork down, abandoning the rest of the food on her gold rimmed plate.

“Well I can’t disappoint a princess, can I?”

“If that’s what you want, stop calling me princess.”

“Your highness?”

She shook her head, no.

“Your majesty?”

Not yet.

“Oh, exalted one?”

“My name.”

“Very well. Clarke of Arkadia, fourth of the Griffin line, soon to be queen of her lands and people, the first of -,”

“Just Clarke.”

“If you insist, just Clarke.”

“You’re hilarious,” the princess drawled.

“Thank you,” Lexa smiled.

The queen regent commanded the ballroom doors be opened half an hour after the final course. Many people remain seated, but most of the younger attendees filtered through. Clarke took Lexa’s offered hand and the two of them chuckled as they passed the scandalised prince of Walden, who had been but a second too late in offering his own. Lexa passed off her sword to a baffled Titus as she walked by him and offered no explanation.

They took their places among the other dance partners on the ballroom floor. There were enough couples to form a circle of pairs, which would be more pleasing on the eyes of the non-dancers than a random rabble. The first notes of a waltz sounded out, and just as Lexa was wondering which of them was expected to lead, Clarke said:

“I’ll let you lead this time. I’ll take the next one.”

“There will be a next time?”

“Unless you turn out to be clumsy.”

Lexa grinned and brought her right hand up to rest on Clarke’s shoulder blade. The dance began, and she stepped forward with her left foot and brought her right a shoulder’s width away a beat later. Clarke met her smile with one of her own and followed gracefully.

The room around them became a blur as they turned and followed the music. Lexa had to keep a steady _one-two-three_ count in her head to keep on beat, as everything about her partner was utterly captivating. It quickly became clear that the soon-to-be queen was no amateur dancer, and even when following she was not shy. Multiple times, she pulled one hand away to perform a quick turn, the skirt of her dress splaying outwards in an elegant arc. Had she not been wearing gloves, Lexa was sure she’d be worrying about sweaty palms.

The music slowed to a stop and they bowed and curtsied to one another.

“Well, there might be another dance after all,” Clarke announced with a smirk.

Lexa couldn’t help but laugh in agreement.

-

At somewhere close to two in the morning, the event had begun to wind down. Both the queen regent and prime minister had said their goodnights with a respectful delay between them, but neither had been present for over an hour. As it was, only the most ardent young dancers were still around, but even their numbers were beginning to dwindle. The band’s conductor turned on his plinth and addressed those remaining, informing them that this would be their final piece of the night.

Having been without a partner for the last few dances, Lexa was about to step away from the floor when Clarke grabbed her wrist.

“It’s the last dance. Stay.”

Finding she was too tired to argue, Lexa nodded mutely and took her position. The music and dancers were both slow and in the general fatigue mistakes were made, but there was no disgrace in it. Everyone was tired and movements were somewhat sluggish, but it was a pleasant way to wind down and end a surprisingly good night.

Lexa had to admit, she’d had few good expectations from her visit to Arkadia. She’d thought after the state dinner, she’d perhaps have a meeting with the prime minister and then after the coronation, a few minutes to congratulate the new queen. She was infinitely pleased with the way things were going so far. Clarke was pleasant in every way possible and through the talking they’d done as they’d danced not once but _five_ times, she could see she’d be an excellent monarch to her people. Clarke was utterly dedicated to her subjects’ welfare. She had ideas for developing education and was concerned about the way foreign affairs had been handled in recent years.

In short, Lexa was utterly smitten with the princess. Their backgrounds were similar, they both had a drive for reform and would do anything to protect their people. And, she had to admit, Clarke was breathtakingly beautiful.

A sharp cough behind them broke her from her thoughts. Lexa looked around to find that not only had the music stopped, but the musicians were packing away their instruments and patting each other’s backs in congratulations for their performance. An unimpressed Titus stood nearby. Lexa was sure she’d dismissed him at some point during the night, but there he was, ruining the end of hers.

“Yes, Titus?”

They were still swaying, but to their own music.

“If I may make a suggestion, your majesty?”

“Suggest away.”

Clarke leaned her head forward onto Lexa’s shoulder, trying to suppress a weary giggle. Titus looked ready to burst a vein in his neck.

“You have meetings to attend in the morning. Later _this_ morning. Perhaps it is time to retire?”

“You may have a point there. I’ll be along in a moment. Allow me to say goodnight.”

The bald man was about to sputter in protest, but Lexa simply turned with the natural sway of their dance, and he stormed from the room. No doubt she’d have to deal with his temper later. For now, Lexa had a very beautiful woman in her arms, and their shuffling steps carried her mood higher than the ornate chandeliers above.

“I suppose I should take my leave,” Clarke murmured into her collar. “It’s been a very long evening.”

“And an interesting night.”

“Hopefully the rest of it will be pleasant,” Lexa smiled, drawing back slightly. Clarke lifted her head and peered at her through heavy lidded, barely open eyes.

“I’ll see you at the coronation?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Goodnight, Alexandria.”

“Please, call me Lexa. And it’s morning, Clarke.”

“Good morning, Lexa.”

Lexa stepped away, holding on to Clarke’s right hand with her left, which she drew towards herself. Bending to meet Clarke’s hand, she placed a gentle, lingering kiss upon the gloved back.

-

The coronation procession was unpleasantly gaudy, Lexa decided. She couldn’t see much from atop her horse, but she’d seen the open-topped carriage meant for the royal family in the courtyard before they left and thought it ugly. The thing was carved with more detail than the throngs of people lining the streets would ever see, and the gold was an unnecessary show of wealth.

But still, from the glimpse she had seen, she knew Clarke herself looked radiant. She was dressed in a white satin gown and square-toed slippers, whiter even than the pure white horses pulling the carriage. She had a golden cloak and her hair was curled at the sides and drawn up at the back. Many years later, Lexa would tell her she’d looked angelic, as though shrouded in light.

The procession filed into the abbey courtyard as they’d practiced multiple times. The din of the crowd beyond the gates was deafening. Lexa’s bannermen flanked her, and an impeccably dressed footman scurried up to take her horse. Inside, nobles and foreign royalty were crammed into every available space. It was cramped and overly warm for an autumn morning, but the mood was excellent.

A hush fell as the music began. All eyes turned to the doors as they swung open to reveal the princess. Her head was high, her bearing regal and her gaze strong as she walked slowly along the aisle to the waiting priest. Murmurs rose as she passed, but not once did she look from her goal. It was commendable, and Lexa, a queen in her own right felt the compulsion to sink to her knees as she walked by.

The bishop droned on for well over an hour as Clarke knelt before him in prayer. The hushed silence grew heavier as time drew on, but at last, the clergyman reached forward and blessed Clarke with a golden chain around her neck – some heavy-handed Arkadian metaphor for duty. She stood, and walked the remaining few steps to where the queen regent sat upon the throne.

Lexa had never seen such an expression on the regent’s face. She had always been hard and stony in their dealings, but now, before her daughter, Abigail was crying. There were no sobs wracking her body, but tears were streaming down her face as she stood and passed her sceptre of office to her daughter. There was pride in her movements as she reached up and plucked the crown from her own head and placed it delicately, almost reverently, on Clarke’s. At last, a small sound escaped her mouth as she stepped back a pace.

Clarke turned to face the crowd, and everyone fell to their knees before their new queen.

-

Upon her return to her rooms that night, Lexa settled at the reading desk by her bed to see to the letters she’d been delivered throughout the day. An oil lamp sputtered in the corner, providing a low orange illumination.

_L_

_I extend a cordial invitation for you to attend lunch with myself tomorrow. I hope to see you in my dining suite at ¼ p. 12. If you are able, please send word as soon as possible._

_C._

Lexa placed the letter down and smoothed the folds from it, then read it again. It was unexpected. In truth, she’d thought the new queen would be far too busy to see any of her visitors personally and had planned to leave as soon as it was polite.

It would be insulting to refuse, wouldn’t it?

-

For a change of pace, Lexa opted to wear a dress to lunch. The long red morning gown covered less than her suits, but there was something about being able to feel her own legs against each other under her skirts that appealed. Not that she had a habit of pressing her legs together whenever she had lunch with a pretty girl, that would be ridiculous. And not that she thought Clarke pretty. Although of course she was, it couldn’t be denied.  

With a sigh at herself, she followed the man-servant who had been sent to escort her to Clarke’s rooms. As she approached, raised voices filtered through the walls. The servant suddenly looked panicked, unsure if he should lead Lexa away from hearing or if that would be improper. Lexa made a show of examining a nearby painting of the former king to ease his worries.

_“-unchaperoned! There would be scandal if word got out!”_

The servant swayed.

_“-not up for discussion. We are allies.”_

The king had certainly been handsome, Lexa decided. He wasn’t her type, but he had a sort of undeniable rogue-ish charm. There was a glint in the painting’s eye that reminded her of Clarke.

_“-about your dancing! You should be attending your duties, not gallivanting around-,”_

At last, the servant gathered his courage and rapped politely on the door before the queen regent – no, the queen _mother_ – said anything particularly damaging. The arguing settled down and a butler on the other side opened the door a crack. He pulled it open fully, and Lexa walked through without a word.

“Queen Alexandria of Polis,” the butler announced to mother and daughter.  Both stood from their seats and offered curtsies in reply to Lexa’s own.

As she had every time before, Clarke looked breath-taking. This time she was in a sapphire coloured dress, its long sleeves puffed out below the elbow and drawn back in at the wrists, as was the fashion. Lexa swallowed hard, aware that she’d been staring a moment too long.

“Good afternoon,” she offered. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course, we have so much to discuss.”

Clarke smiled brightly and Lexa couldn’t help but return it. The new queen turned to Abigail.

“Thank you for attending me mother, I’ll see you this evening.”

The queen mother looked decidedly uncomfortable with being dismissed. She likely hadn’t been dismissed at all for uncountable years. And yet, Clarke was queen now, so she did as she was bid. Abigail inclined her head and swept away from her daughter towards the door. She paused a moment by Lexa to speak.

“As a monarch yourself, I doubt I need remind you of the impropriety of-”

“ _Thank you,_ mother.”

And she was gone. The butler closed the doors quietly behind her, and led Lexa to sit in the high backed chair next to the one Clarke settled in. He bowed out a moment later, stating that he would return with their meal. Only the two of them were left in the room, and Lexa didn’t quite know what to do with herself.

“I wanted to talk to you about how the relationship between our countries stands,” Clarke announced, producing a small pile of papers from the desk behind her. “As I’m sure you’re aware, prime minister Kane has been hashing through the details of our trade agreements over the past year and has come up with some interesting proposals I’d like you to peruse.”

This wasn’t what Lexa had expected at all. A personal lunch? The idea suddenly felt foolish. Her dress felt heavy on her body and she drew her hands into her lap, desperately trying not to fidget. It was ridiculous. Here she was, a ruler and a commander of a nation’s armies, upset because the lunch-with-a-pretty-girl she’d been giddy about all morning turned out to be a business meeting. She’d selected the best of her dresses and had her maids curl and pin her hair and it was a stupid, foolish thing to have done.

“I see.”

Swallowing her disappointment, she reached out for the papers and scanned over the first page. It was concise in laying out what Arkadia expected in tax and levies from goods imported from Polis, and what they were willing to give in return for their own. “This seems fair, but of course I’ll need a little time to read more thoroughly and discuss with my advisors.”

“Of course,” Clarke smiled. She slid the papers from Lexa’s fingers and placed them out of reach at the other side of the table. “Now that I’ve given you that, we can talk about more exciting things. I’ve spent all morning with politicians, I’d like to have a decent conversation.”

On the inside, Lexa may have jumped for joy.

-

The next time they met, their positions were reversed. That is, Lexa was the one receiving Clarke at her own home in Polis. The tower was more austere than Arkadia’s palace, but she had always been proud of it and looked forward to showing her friend around.

They were friends now, they had decided. They had started up a correspondence through couriered letters, and Lexa had a carved wooden box dedicated to Clarke’s writings. The letters were not usually long, but they spoke of books they were reading or shows they’d attended – some they promised to take each other to if they could.

When Titus had growled that queen Clarke was hoping to visit within the month, Lexa had hurried over to her writing desk to seek confirmation – and a few days later received it, along with a date of arrival. And on the anticipated date, Lexa arranged herself in a chair to wait. Although she had things to be attending to, her knee bounced every time she tried to concentrate and her mind refused to focus. Instead she sat there, gazing surreptitiously out of her drawing room window every so often for the sign of a carriage being drawn down the long pebbled driveway. It was improbable they’d be there early, but the nerves in her stomach wouldn’t settle.

At last, late in the afternoon, the hairs on the back of Lexa’s neck stood on end and she looked outside and there it was – the closed off chaise and four she’d been expecting was making its way closer. She smiled to herself and leapt from her seat, then threw herself back into it to appear nonchalant. It wouldn’t do to appear too eager. She quickly picked up a book and turned to a random page.

Judging by the chiming of the grandfather clock, fifteen minutes passed before Clarke was shown to the drawing room. A disgruntled Titus announced her and hovered as Lexa stood and greeted her friend with a polite smile. The old man scowled as he was dismissed, his protests cut short with the flick of a wrist.

“It’s so good to see you,” Clarke rushed forward once they were alone, wrapping Lexa in a tight hug. “Your letters have been wonderful, but they’ve only made me miss your company more.”

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve arranged for us to visit the theatre tomorrow night. The play I wrote to you about has its last performance and I’d hate for you to miss it.”

Clarke pulled away and nodded in agreement.

“It sounds wonderful. Now, tell me what you’ve been up to.”

-

Somehow, word got out that the queen and her visiting royal friend were to attend the theatre, and people turned out in droves to catch a glimpse. It took a full hour for the crowds to part enough for their carriage to pass through. A line of police formed a semi-circle around the entrance, and following a quick wave and greeting, they made their way inside.

The royal box was placed high above the rest of the audience, away from prying eyes. Lexa was thankful for this, because by the time the hero’s best friend was dying from his battle wounds, Clarke was clinging to her arm, sobbing into a silk handkerchief. Lexa was frozen in place. She couldn’t concentrate on the performers, her gaze flicking to Clarke every other moment. It only got worse when Clarke took her hand in her own.

By the time the curtain went down for the interval, Lexa wasn’t sure her limbs could work again, she’d been rigid for so long. A pat on the knee from her companion proved her wrong when she all but jumped out of her skin in surprise.

“This play is so sad! Please tell me there’s a happy ending.”

“Don’t ask me to spoil the end!”

“I’m not asking you, I’m demanding.”

Lexa rolled her eyes and shook her head, pressing her lips together and humming her refusal.

“Please! I need to know.”

Clarke, it turned out, was no pushover. Her glare was difficult to bear, and Lexa soon felt herself wilting under it. She took it upon herself to review the décor. She’d have to talk to someone about cleaning, because there was definitely a cobweb in the upper corner.

“Lexa.”

“Yes, Clarke?”

“Stop being difficult and tell me.”

“No, we’re here to enjoy the play and you can’t do that if you know what’s going to happen.”

“That makes no sense, you’ve already seen it.”

“Perhaps I’m enjoying watching you watch it.”

Clarke tensed in her seat.

“Don’t say things like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Lexa rushed to apologise. “I hope I didn’t offend you. It’s just interesting to see your reactions to the story and-,”

“Don’t say that either!” Clarke cried. “It’s ridiculous. Sometimes I see the way you look at me and I think it’s just friendly interest, but other times you’re so intense that I think it’s more.”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Lexa’s face fell. She’d been trying very hard _not_ to look any different. Her feelings for Clarke had been dangerously close to going beyond affectionate, and it was difficult to look at her without showing it.

“No, that’s not what I meant. Would it be strange if part of me _wanted_ you to look at me differently?” The words were hesitant, as though through fear that she would be rejected. Lexa closed her eyes, trying to comprehend what was going on. They’d had their flirting in Arkadia, and a mild teasing in their letters, but she had never thought in a thousand years that Clarke would want anything more. She’d just seemed like the kind of person that enjoyed playing teasing games with her friends.

“I- I’m not sure what to say,” she admitted with a sigh.

Clarke was looking at her, eyebrows high and together in what could be hope. Lexa wanted nothing more than to take her face in her hands and kiss away the worry in her eyes. Her heart clenched and she lurched forward to take Clarke’s hand in her own. The very least she could do was be honest in return.

“I think I do look at you differently. I can’t help it. I always want to know more about you. I look forward to every letter you send and if you’d seen how excited I was for you to arrive, you would laugh at me. If there were any world where I thought I had the ability to make you happy, I would make it my sole purpose in life.”

“You do make me happy,” Clarke murmured, squeezing gently.

Lexa drew in a deep breath and steeled herself for what she was about to say.

“I would like to court you, Clarke. Our people are so different and we are already wed to our countries, but if there is a way, I’d like to find it.”

“It will be a challenge. My mother would be difficult for one.”

“That goes two ways, I’m afraid, Titus will try to chase you out of Polis.”

“Then he’s lucky I’m only here for a week.”

Lexa nodded and considered how things would have to go. There were procedures of courtship to follow. It wasn’t even the right season. So far, their interactions were acceptable as friends, but for anything more, there were important steps which could not be missed if they were to present publically.

The most difficult thing would be the public. Monarchies lived and died on their public perception. Lexa had been careful and deliberate in her political decisions so far, but this could potentially pose problems. They were only recently allies and it would not be acceptable to try and force –

“If you think any harder, you’ll give yourself a headache.”

“I just want to do this right. It has to be right.”

“It will be.”

-

Courtship, it turned out, was simpler than Lexa had imagined it. Being the rulers of their respective countries, neither had been through the complicated process of coming out and being formally introduced under the guidance of their mothers, so they were thankfully able to skip that.

They did, however, need to confirm their affection to be sure they wanted to continue. When they decided to go walking in the gardens a few days later, they each had to decide upon a chaperone. Lexa refused to talk to Titus at this stage, so invited a more sympathetic face in the form of Anya, a duchess she had known since childhood and trusted to be discreet. Sympathetic was perhaps too strong a word however, because she spent most of the outing making disgusted noises and complaining to Clarke’s chaperone, a lady of Arkadia’s court named Raven.

“I’m going on my own tour of neighbouring countries soon,” Lexa announced as they reached the central fountain. “Arkadia is at the top of my list, of course.”

“Well, we have the best entertainment on the continent.”

“I could try Walden first instead, I hear their fashions are becoming very popular,” Lexa teased.

“You could, although you’d be bored witless. I know you can’t stand the prince.”

“I might change my mind. I’m always looking out for new allies.”

Clarke’s arm twitched as though she wanted to slap her arm playfully. They couldn’t touch now, no matter the reason. They had to be sure that their feelings were true before they could engage in physical contact. It was a rule that just made sense, to avoid foolish decisions based on lust. Marriage was a business partnership after all, and those formed with loins rather than lobes were doomed to fail.

“You’ll have Arkadia’s friendship regardless.”

“Thank you.”

Unfortunately, having already spent time holding hands and hugging – even clinging to one another in the theatre made things strained. Twice already Lexa had to restrain herself from reaching out to straighten Clarke’s bonnet.

“You’re both trying too hard at this. Just sneak around a corner and kiss, we won’t tell anyone.”

Anya was a terrible influence.

-

Courting during Lexa’s visit to Arkadia was a strange affair. On the morning after her arrival, Clarke had invited her to breakfast with her and Abigail. Upon entering, both had stood from the table, Clarke offering a wide smile and Abigail a smaller, slightly terser one.

“I told her,” Clarke explained.

Lexa nodded, heart suddenly in her throat. She swallowed hard and took the seat offered to her. They sat in silence while a butler poured them all tea, then bowed out.

“Pardon me, Abigail, but I-,”

“Call me Abby.”

Lexa choked on nothing. Her hands knitted together in her lap and she couldn’t quite meet either woman’s eye.

“Yes, of course, I…”

Clarke smiled encouragingly.

“We’re trying to be careful,” was all she could come up with. She’d never found herself without words before, but suddenly she didn’t know what to say. Abigail – _Abby_ – sighed thoughtfully and stirred a spoonful of sugar into her tea.

“I won’t lie – I worry about the political consequences. But if you two do end up becoming attached, then I know anything I say won’t stop that.”

Over the course of the meal, Lexa was informed that the queen mother herself had married for love. Admittedly, the upward mobility of her marrying a prince had been very appealing to her parents, but she claimed to be a romantic.

Lexa was taken aback by the unexpected support. The understanding Abby was showing was almost scarier than the fight she’d anticipated. She’d thought there would be a verbal sparring match and had come prepared with plenty of explanations and promises. Later, even Clarke would voice her surprise.

Suffice to say, things were much easier without having to sneak around. They had their chaperoned walks and graduated to sitting together while they relaxed in the evening or conducted the business of the day. It was comfortable and even the servants had become more at ease. One or two had given sly smiles as they watched theit queens interact, only to be shooed off.

-

“Your majesty, might I ask why you’ve arranged a meeting with a jeweller?”

Lexa had been dreading this conversation. A few days earlier, she’d passed Titus her outgoing letters and run to bed before he could question the jeweller’s address on one of the envelopes. Now however, he was standing there with a letter of reply in his outstretched hand.

“I’m considering commissioning a piece,” she said truthfully.

“I see.”

Titus remained where he was, despite the non-verbal dismissal hanging in the air. Lexa placed the letter at the bottom of the pile and opened a report regarding a land dispute.

“Is there a reason you’re still here?” she asked, trying not to be unkind.

“I mean no impertinence, but some of the servants have been gossiping. They have been spreading rumours about yourself and Clarke of Arkadia. With your permission, I would like to have them removed from your service for the good of your reputation.”

Lexa placed the report down and looked over the rims of her reading glasses.

“Might I ask what they have been saying?”

“I mean no offense by saying this, your majesty, but there are rumours that you have grown… close. I do not believe them of course, but I thought it best to draw your attention.”

“You must believe part of it to bring this to me.”

“I only meant to caution you.”

“Ah, so not only do you believe these rumours, but you intend to tell me what I should and should not do.”

While Lexa’s voice was calm, her gaze was steel. Titus withered a little, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

“My apologies, I did not mean to -,”

“Your concern is appreciated, Titus, but the rumours are true. We have been courting, and I intend to begin negotiations for engagement.”

“Your majesty, is that wise? Arkadia is only recently an ally, and such a union would only give your enemies ammunition.”

Lexa removed her glasses and set them aside. She stood to address her former guardian.

“This is not something I do lightly. We have discussed the ramifications at length and have come to the conclusion that we both have much to offer the other.”

“The people will not accept her as queen.”

“That is why she won’t _be_ my queen, just as I won’t be hers. We’re perfectly capable of ruling our own countries, Titus, neither of us wants more power.”

“You say that now, but it may change in the future.”

“Enough. I know you care about Polis, and I thank you for that. But my regard for Clarke has nothing to do with you.”

“It does! Your reputation-,”

“Is none of your concern. Leave, Titus, while you still have a place here.”

-

Lexa and Clarke were both in attendance at the wedding of the King of Azgeda. The event was smaller than expected, just a few visitors and close family, perhaps a reflection of the financial struggles the country was going through. It had also occurred to Lexa that the king had simply invited anyone it would be impolite to refuse and the few delegates he could actually stand.

The Arkadian and Polis suites were located just a hallway apart, so it was all too tempting for the enamoured queens to spend time together. The morning before the wedding had each of them hovering close to their doors until they were called back by exasperated servants to finish preparing for the day.

They were still officially courting, so any time alone was off the table. Fortunately, a few other people either knew or had an inkling about their connection, so it was as though they were by themselves in a crowd. Lexa was certain she’d seen King Roan wink at her when they’d been seated at the same table.

As for the wedding itself, Lexa could recall very little. Her mind had been elsewhere – in her rooms, at the bottom of her travelling trunk, there lay a ring she was trying to find the opportune moment to discuss.

Thankfully, the prohibition on touching did not extend to dancing, and for the first time in months they were able to be closer than arm’s length. It was intoxicating, being so close after so long, and it only made Lexa more determined to confirm Clarke’s affection. She desperately needed to acquire Abby’s permission to propose something further.

She’d been contemplating the right way to propose since her jeweller had presented the finished ring. She was quite proud of the piece. Having given strict specifications, it had turned out exactly has she had imagined it. She’d carried it with her constantly, only leaving it when it was absolutely necessary. Even Anya had liked it, and helped (in her own sardonic way) come up with a plan to negotiate Abby’s approval and find the perfect way to ask Clarke herself.

“You’re very distant this evening,” Clarke remarked as they walked back to their rooms after the ceremony. Abby followed a few steps behind, but Lexa could think of no way to get her alone.

“Am I?” in truth, she was so deep in thought she had barely heard the question.

“Yes,” Clarke looked somewhat worried. “Is something wrong?”

Lexa looked blankly at her, running over the words again.

“No, there’s nothing wrong. I’m just considering things.”

They stopped before their doors, each hesitating. Lexa didn’t want to say goodbye, but she knew she’d only make the encounter awkward with what she couldn’t say.

“Goodnight, Clarke,” Lexa said, a little more abruptly than she intended.

Offense flashed across Clarke’s face for a moment before being replaced by worry. Abby coughed politely.

“Something is clearly bothering you, Lexa, don’t try to deny it. Clarke, invite her in while I find someone to bring us some tea. The two of you can talk for a few moments unsupervised, I’m sure.”

There was a bell in both suites that would summon a servant, but Abby would not be persuaded. Both queens were bundled into the Arkadian suite, quite alone. They stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, neither sure where to begin.

Lexa cleared her throat. It would do her no good to lie, but it wouldn’t be proper to talk too plainly before having permission. Clarke was regarding her with concern. Her palms were sweating beneath her gloves and she clenched them in an effort to prevent herself from wiping them on her jacket.

“Are you reconsidering our courtship?” Clarke blurted, causing Lexa’s head to jerk up.

“No! No, not at all. That’s the last thing I want you to feel. I’ve just… I’ve been considering an upcoming meeting. It’s been playing on my mind for a few days.”

“I’m not accusing you, I was just worried. We’ve been together all day, but you’ve not been _there_ , if that makes sense.”

“I promise you nothing will change my mind about you. I had actually hoped to…” she trailed off, when Clarke nodded and turned away. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.”

Clarke crossed the room to rifle through the drawers of a nearby chest. Lexa spotted an opportunity to escape.

“If you don’t mind, Clarke, I’d like to retire for the night. That meeting I told you about is likely to be early, and –,”

The words caught in her throat as Clarke whirled around, holding out a silver ring, a sapphire catching the light.

“I…”

“I know I should ask permission before I give this, but I wasn’t sure who to go to. Titus was your guardian, yes, but he isn’t blood and it didn’t seem right. I doubt he’d even entertain the idea. I asked mother, and she told me to just ask you. So I am. I’m asking your permission to ask to marry you.”

“I’ve to give you permission, for you to ask me to marry me?”

“Yes, that’s what I said. I had a ring commissioned, do you think you’ll like it?”

“Could you…” Lexa swallowed hard and held up a hand while she tried to process everything. “Could you wait a moment?”

She rushed from the room into her own, startling the maid who was tending the fireplace. She stuttered out an apology and threw her trunk open and practically dived in to find the cloth wrapped box hidden in the bottom corner. She fished it out and burst back into the other queen’s room, where Clarke stood where she’d been left, a bemused look on her face.

“I half thought you were rejecting me.”

Lexa shook her head furiously and held up the box, immediately blushing when she realised it was still wrapped and the vague shape didn’t make its contents obvious. Cursing, she wrestled it free, tossed the fabric to one side, flipped open the hinged lid and thrust it forward.

“I wanted to give you this.”

Clarke leaned forward to examine the ring nestled in the velvet, a smile on her lips.

“It looks like we’re on the same page.”

“So it seems. Should we say it’s official?”

“Not quite,” Clarke held up the ring she’d been offering and placed Lexa’s box aside. She undid the button of her glove and tugged it off. She slid the jewelled band into place. Lexa let out a shaky breath and took Clarke’s left hand to place her own emerald laden ring on the third finger.

“You know I had a speech memorised for this. And you didn’t give me a chance to ask your mother.”

“I can take the ring off and we can start again if you’d like?”

“Don’t you dare!”

Lexa couldn’t stop smiling. All her worrying had been for nothing, everything was exactly as it should be.

“We’re engaged now,” Clarke breathed.

“I thought you were just asking permission to ask.”

“Be quiet and kiss me.”

-

Being engaged was far more enjoyable than courting. Once the announcements were sent out to close friends and family, it was _expected_ that they’d spend time together. They could hold hands. They could _kiss_. And they did. More than once, servants had been exposed to their incessant lip-locking and not been able to get their attention. Titus seemed close to breaking down each time he walked in on what he was calling ‘excessive affection’. Lexa later informed an unsurprised Clarke that he’d never been in love.

There was no need to introduce one another to their immediate families because they all knew each other through previous events. Letters of congratulations had flowed in for the pair, each asking for details of the courtship and if they’d set a date for the wedding.

Unfortunately, they were unable to choose anything beyond a desired month. Lexa had decided on June, so she could have a wife as her birthday gift. _Which_ June was the question. Before they could plan in depth, they first needed to address the issue of living arrangements. Both queens needed to be close to their seats of power to rule effectively, but those were far apart and threatened their time together.

Lexa couldn’t imagine being married and not having her wife close by – just the thought of _having_ a wife gave her such a feeling of indescribable glee that serious thought left her. Clarke was wonderful and understanding, and claimed it was endearing that whenever they were working on the logistics of their union, Lexa’s face would become far away and blissful.

Lexa looked between her notes and Clarke’s. She’d barely written anything, having been staring at the beauteous creature before her. There was barely any point in wearing her reading glasses, she wasn’t working.

“Could you at least try to concentrate?” Clarke murmured, sensing her shift.

“I am concentrating.”

“On the plans. If you have your way, we’ll spend the next thirty years planning our married lives and never get to live them.”

“Well, we’d be planning together, so that’s something.”

 -

Lexa was awoken on the day of her wedding by an incessant knocking on her door. She grunted and her ladies rushed into the room, ready to prepare and dress her.  

“Your majesty, if you are to be on time to the chapel, you must rise.”

Lexa stared up at the canopy of her four-poster bed and nodded absently. Months of hard work and strategizing had lead to this. She would leave this room a single woman, and return to it tonight married, belonging in her entirety to Clarke. She smiled, and sat up.

“We have a lot to do to prepare.”

Her ladies were efficient. They were well practiced in caring for her by now. They stripped her out of her night dress and all but threw her into the claw-foot tub to scrub the remnants of sleep from her person. She was dried and primped and perfumed and dressed in her undergarments and skirts and finally, her white satin dress and slippers.

The dress had been especially commissioned by Polis’ finest dressmaker. Although accented in lace around the neck and at the cuff, the line of it was a simple cut in line with the country’s tradition. Though she hadn’t seen Clarke’s dress herself, the seamstress had, and insisted that their dresses would look perfect next to one another.

As the clock struck ten, Titus appeared in the doorway and bowed low. This was to be his last duty before retirement, and as such, Lexa could not bear to be brusque with him.

“Your majesty, it is time to leave.”

-

The procession through the streets was a humbling affair. Barriers had been erected along the route, but people still pressed against them for a glimpse of their queen. Lexa waved at them as she passed and heard their resounding cheers. It was heartening to know that her people approved of her upcoming nuptials.

As her carriage slowed to approach the chapel courtyard, Lexa could hear the bells ringing out in celebration. Lexa’s heart was lodged firmly in her throat as she spotted the other carriage parked neatly to one side.  Her driver manoeuvred into place gracefully. She’d already moved across to the door when the footman unlatched it, and she stepped out on shaking limbs.

“Your fiancée waits inside,” he whispered, and gestured to the enormous wooden doors.

Before she made her way to the entrance, Lexa looked once more at her people, and curtsied before them. She loved them, and would continue to protect them, even if she would no longer be solely theirs. A final cheer rose up, and she waved her thanks.

The doors swung open as she approached, her entourage in tow. A row of attendants she’d known since childhood lined the way to the vestry. Lexa’s breath caught in her throat. Clarke stood by the chapel register, smiling as she caught sight of Lexa in the doorway.

The seamstress had been right, their dresses were perfect together. Clarke’s was a little fuller in the skirts, a little lower in the neck, and Lexa could not find the words to say how stunning she looked. She stuttered over a few syllables before giving up. The bishop laughed, saying it had been some time since he had seen a couple so awestruck by one another.

Lexa stepped to the register and took the pen to sign her maiden name. As she lowered the nib, she read Clarke’s impeccable handwriting and smiled up at her. She signed slowly, deliberately and carefully forming each letter as she wrote. This was a momentous day, and this document would be historical. She refused to spoil it with a nervous, shaking hand.

As she finished, the bishop hurried them back through and had them wait while he took his place at the altar. The choir fell silent, the organ began playing, and the packed hall of guests straightened in their pews to get a good look of the couple.

Clarke held out her hand, and Lexa laid her own on top, squeezing a little at first to ground herself. They walked forward in time to the music, eyes following them as they made their way to their destination and up the step at the altar.

This bishop was no less verbose than the one at Clarke’s coronation. As he droned on, Lexa instead turned her attention to her bride. Clarke was radiant, a vision in white. Lexa wondered what she had done to deserve such a creature, or if she had simply been blessed with all the luck in the world.

When silence came, and the ring bearer stepped forward, Lexa took the one offered to her and turned to Clarke. She spoke her vows quietly, only for the two of them, running the tip of her finger on the inside of the gold band, where she knew her own initials were engraved. As she finished, she slid the ring home, nestling it next to its emerald laden sister.

Clarke spoke next, eyes never leaving Lexa’s face. The clear sincerity in her gaze had Lexa struggling to remain composed as she promised to love her for so long as they’d live, for beyond, for eternity.

At last, the bishop pronounced them wed. Before the words were even out of his mouth, Clarke was leaning forward to kiss Lexa, and Lexa met her in the middle. To cheers from their guests, the newly married couple turned, and walked from the chapel to the adulation of their people beyond, and to the single carriage that would take them to the first of two grand receptions.

-

In the years to come, both Polis and Arkadia flourished under the care of two careful and attentive rulers. Industry blossomed, education was made a priority for all children, and living conditions were vastly improved. Any nay-sayers of the union were quickly silenced as both Clarke and Lexa proved that their devotion to their people was equal to that of each other.

On the one hundredth anniversary of the wedding of Queens Clarke and Lexa, a bill was passed through Arkadia’s parliament which led the way to the true unification of both countries, and Polis was swift to respond. There would no longer be a country called Polis, and a country called Arkadia, but two regions of the same country, held together by their joined history.

The palace that the queens built together on what was once the border between two countries has become the seat of the modern monarchy, held by their descendants. In its archives, there are letters of correspondence from one queen to another, and to their respective friends and families. Perhaps the most famous of those letters is one from Queen Clarke to her mother, describing her marriage:

 

_...but my sweet wife remains eternally attentive. Her affection is tender and excessive, and prior to knowing her, I had never hoped to have such love in my life. I cannot fathom being without her, and every day I spend with her only confirms that she has the whole of my heart._


End file.
